


but i'm not burning for you

by crownedcarl



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Delusions, Denial, Dubious Consent, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Isolation, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Linear Narrative, Psychological Trauma, Rick Grimes centric, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11848419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: There’s nothing to fear when Rick’s alone with Negan. All he has to do is breathe.





	but i'm not burning for you

**Author's Note:**

> hello one and all; this is more of an experiment than anything else, considering this being my first foray into a fic from rick's point of view, and i hope it isn't too jarring a detour from my usual negan ~voice. as you might be able to tell from the warnings and tags, this is a pretty heavy fic, and if i've inadequately tagged something OR forgotten to do so altogether, let me know either in the comments or via tumblr (@crownedcarl) what needs amending! this time, i'm being up-front about the major character death, considering that it's what this whole fic centers on, so i'm hoping i got it right this time around!
> 
> again, i've paid tribute to my favorite poet by incorporating a couple of his lines into this fic, so hopefully some of you guys will pick up on that! the title's from let it all go by rhodes, and other than that, i'm out of things to say! hopefully you guys will enjoy this ahhh

Negan isn’t at the gate for the pickup. He wasn’t there last week, either, or the week before.

Rick doesn’t bother coming out and personally greeting the Saviors; he has other things to do, today, bouncing Judith on his knee and trying to coerce her into taking her breakfast without a fuss, listening absently as Michonne announces that she’s taking his place and dealing with today’s proceedings.

She tries to catch Rick’s eyes, but he avoids her gaze, and she must know that unless Negan is there, Rick’s got no reason to leave the house. The other Saviors don’t care who’s there, as long as there’s someone to taunt, and Rick nods as Michonne leaves with a soft-spoken goodbye.

He almost says thank you, but the words stick in his throat. She knows already, anyway.

-

Rick remembers dreaming of Lori in her wedding dress, and how the terrible, beautiful dreams spilled over into his waking hours. He remembers the slow slip-slide of insanity clawing at the corners of his brain, the flash of white always lurking at the edges of his vision, but the things he dreams of now are worse. He'd give anything for the comfort of Lori's soft touch, but instead, he gets this.

He can't pinpoint whether he's awake or not, if it's a fever dream or a desperate attempt at honoring the dead but behind him, Negan is laughing, tugging at Rick's hair with rough hands. "Forgotten 'bout me already?" he asks, deceptively concerned. "Didn't I make my mark, Rick? Am I gonna have to remind you?"

"Please," Rick says, forgetting every other word that's sitting on his tongue, begging to be spoken. "Please."

Huffing a soft laugh against the sensitive skin of Rick's neck, Negan's voice takes a dip into the black waters of desire. "I've been in your body, baby," he says, "And it was _paradise."_

The hands on his hips tighten. Negan always tried to drag Rick down with him. "I've been in your body and it was a carnival ride."

He wakes up, tangled in the sheets, his heart beating in a slow rhythm against his ribs, and all Rick can think is _come back tonight, please, don't leave me alone_ and for a split-second, he wonders why he feels ashamed.

-

Carl doesn't look at him the same, anymore, and Rick knows that he can't blame him. Dreaming about the dead is bad enough, but standing in his kitchen, speaking to a specter that isn't really there, seeing Carl's sad gaze on him-? Of course he's distancing himself. Of course he whispers _there's something wrong with dad_ in Enid's ear, trying not to let Rick hear it.

Across the room, Negan smirks at him, and Rick accidentally makes coffee for two.

-

Rick remembers Carol’s words to him, back at the prison. Her confession, spoken quietly, of what she’d asked of Andrea, what she’d urged their friend to do for the sake of them all.

Rick imagines it, sometimes. He thinks, bitterly, that if Andrea had done what Carol wanted, their lives would be different, because with the Governor dead, Woodbury would’ve been theirs and this fate could’ve been avoided. He and the others wouldn’t be living under a madman’s whim.

He thinks about it, sometimes and has to make an effort to remind himself not to blame Andrea, forcing himself to swallow the poison of his own anger. She never wanted anyone to die.

Sometimes, late at night, he imagines doing what Andrea couldn’t. He dreams about his hands around Negan’s throat, his knife embedded in Negan’s skull. He thinks about the blood spraying up, and Negan’s surprise bright in his eyes.

After he thinks about it, he ends up staring at his hands, forced to remind himself that no matter what he ultimately thinks of Andrea’s decision, his own is no better. He’s as sentimental as she was, in the end. He apologizes to an empty room, under his breath, and wonders if she’d forgive him, if she could see him now.

-

“Tell me something, Rick,” Negan demands, because there’s never any asking with him and there never will be. “You ever wonder how many of your people hate you? You ever get the feeling you’re waiting for a knife in the back, huh?”

Chuckling, Negan strokes a hand along Rick’s spine, lingering. He maps out the trail of Rick’s vertebrae with care, like the shape of bones beneath skin is something he wants to remember. “Hell, you figure they’d stage a mutiny already, knowing what they know. Shit, I can hear them thinking. How can we trust this guy when he’s spreading his legs for the enemy? Am I right?”

Silently, Rick pushes back against the touch. He’s damned, already. There’s no use in pretending that putting a stop to this thing _now_ will make a difference to the people outside, counting on Rick to protect them, to lead them. There’s no point in answering Negan’s questions, either, not when Rick knows that he’s right.

Negan’s voice is whisper-soft at the back of Rick’s neck, tantalizing. “You’re going to hell, Rick,” Negan chuckles, “Might as well enjoy the ride.”

Rick’s silence stretches. He knows it infuriates Negan. “Hey,” he scowls, “What’s going on inside that head of yours, Rick? You wanna share what’s so funny?”

Thing is, Rick didn’t realize he was smiling ‘til now. Shaking his head, he sighs “Let it be, Negan,” and guides Negan’s hand between his thighs, shuddering. “We got better things to do than talk.”

-

It’s been awhile since Negan last visited.

The others aren’t all that broken up about it. Rick can feel Alexandria collectively breathe a sigh of relief when the first week of Negan’s absence dawns, and he can feel the accusatory glances being shot his way, people shifting to whisper in each other’s ears, urgent and gleeful. He never wanted this, but there’s no taking it back, the things he’s allowed Negan to take from him in the dark.

Whore, he hears someone whisper in their friend’s ear, until Rosita marches over and shuts them down. Still. Rick heard, and he’s been hearing it for a while. There’s no denying that these people, betrayed and wary, are right; that Rick’s not a martyr on the cross, but a selfish man with selfish needs, delivering himself into the arms of a psychopath, looking for something he can’t name. Of course they wouldn’t trust him. Of course they think he’s lower than the dirt they’re standing on.

Negan isn’t coming, and Aaron says “Why don’t you take the day off?” so Rick does. He prefers an empty house to these people's tense, accusing company, anyway. He’s starting to suffocate among them.

-

Negan always liked to talk, words falling from his mouth like bombs, making their impact in places so deep Rick couldn't imagine living without the damage.

There were times when Negan would be quiet, but not for long, never for long, and Rick soon discovered that he preferred Negan's ranting to his silences. Rick couldn't read those silences, not at all, and Negan knew it.

But there had been a time, he thinks, where Negan wasn't lying to him, when he was as sincere as he could ever be, offering little truths to Rick like they were precious diamonds, something to cherish when the world became too dark and too cold to handle. "You," Negan had said, "Are mine, so lets not fuck around. And, Rick," he had sighed, warm breath against Rick's sternum, "Don't you forget about me, no matter what."

Rick doesn't. He can't. He wonders if Negan's laughing, wherever he is, at the fact that he got what he wanted, in the end. Dead, but still winning.

-

Rick can't remember who broke the news, or when, but he knows that he was outside, knee-deep in soil, working on the garden Maggie and Deanna had begun planning a lifetime ago, before all the death. He remembers that Michonne had come up to him, her expression grim, and said _Negan is dead. Simon is in charge, now_ and Rick had cut himself on the pruning shears, white noise ringing in his ears.

Somehow, it hadn't made sense. Negan was the bogeyman, an immortal bastard of a man who couldn't be taken down, and Rick had met Michonne's eyes evenly and declared "No, he's not," and returned to his gardening, a tranquility settling across him. Not even Carl could persuade him indoors, that day. He stayed in the soil for hours.

Months later, the realization sinks in. Rick can only take so much, but he knows that even if Negan visits him at night, there are no bruises on his chest to prove that he was ever there at all, and how could he be when he's rotting in the ground? He isn't there, Rick tells himself, until it stops sounding like a lie.

He still dreams, but Negan stops showing up unannounced and blessedly, horrifically welcome, at least during daytime, and it gets easier to lie, pretending Rick's not still seeing things. He knows Carl doesn't believe him. He knows almost nobody does, but they're all playing the same game, pretending Rick isn't going crazy like he did, before.

Rick misses him, aching for Negan like a lost limb, praying to nobody in the twilight hours. _Let him stay. Please, god, let him stay_ but the next morning, Rick wakes with the grief thudding dully in his chest and tells himself to get up. It's a small consolation prize, the fact that despite the longing, Rick is alright. The days are getting longer but it isn't unbearable, anymore, the thought of letting go.

-

Negan is a viper. He strikes in the dark, in the alley between two houses - unoccupied, considering their losses. Rick can’t remember the names of the women who lived there, before, but it doesn’t matter. His back hits the wall and his ears are ringing, and there’s a tongue forcing itself past his lips, down his throat; all Rick can do is close his eyes and pray it’s the right one, because Negan isn’t the only one who’s been looking at Rick, lately.

His voice rumbles in Rick’s ear, against his cheek, hot and sharp. “Missed you,” Negan chuckles, making a mockery of what should’ve been affectionate, but Rick nods, dazed, letting Negan trace the planes of his flat abdomen, fingers curling into the divots of his hips.

Rick’s throat constricts as he whispers “I bet you did,” and shivers as Negan’s hands slip beneath his shirt.

There’s a strange comfort in knowing that he doesn’t need to ask for anything, with Negan; that Negan will decide what Rick needs and when he needs it, and all Rick has to do is play along, sinking below the surface of desire and floating there, suspended in time.

Negan has a way of touching him that empties Rick’s head, leaving his skull aching, the base of his neck heavy. It doesn’t scare him, anymore, Negan’s iron-clad grip on him. Yes or no, it doesn’t matter; Negan takes the decision out of Rick’s hands, and there’s a freedom there that Rick’s starting to long for.

There’s nothing to fear when Rick’s alone with Negan. All he has to do is breathe.

-

“Did you love him?”

Rick thinks about it, but all he’s got are half-forgotten snapshots of memory, hot breath on the back of his neck and broad hands pinning him in place, dark eyes staring at him in the dim light and deep silence of his bedroom.

“No,” Rick eventually says, soft and firm. “There was never time.”


End file.
